


Imagines Collection (SFW)

by Anonymous



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Coffee Shops, Comfort, Cute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F slur, F/M, Fights, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Just Friends, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Other, Sleepy Cuddles, Snow, Snowball Fight, Trans, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Trent imagines but soft, emotional, maybe a little angsty, and total fluff.
Relationships: Trent Reznor/Reader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 39
Collections: Anonymous





	Imagines Collection (SFW)

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you remember I used to run a Trent Reznor imagines blog on Tumblr. I had since deleted but that doesn't mean that I won't post here for your viewing pleasure.  
> This collection is a series of the imagines that are rated SFW. If anyone would like to read the NSFW versions, I will have a collection of those up soon. For now, please enjoy and thank you for your patience. I have decided to post a few of the ones that I think were worthy enough to be posted from 2018-2019. Who knows? Maybe I will write more. Have a request that is sfw? Let me know in the comments section.
> 
> <3

Bullet Point Imagine of Trent being cute:

  * Sitting criss-cross in his seat

  * That crooked smile he always gives in interviews

  * Being an awkward anxious baby

  * Glancing around anxiously

  * Twiddling his thumbs

  * Shifting in his seat nonstop

  * Running his fingers through his long hair continuously

  * Smiling big and giggling when something really makes him happy

  * Calling you pet names in that husky, nasally voice of his

  * Kitten, angel, beautiful, baby, etc.

  * Standing close behind you and pressing his adorable nose into your hair just to breathe in your scent

  * If you’re shorter than him, he’ll wrap his arms around you while doing so

  * If you’re taller than him, he’ll stand up on his tiptoes to do it and occasionally rest his chin on your shoulder

  * Randomly grasping your hand during anything

  * Walking, under the table at a restaurant, etc.

  * Pulling you in for a quick kiss and actually blushing deep red afterwards

  * Spooning you when you cuddle, after sex, etc.

  * Playing with your hair without even realizing it

  * Giving you gentle neck, shoulder, and back massages

  * Laying his head on your lap and falling asleep




Comfort:

Today is not a good day. Trent is gone and already out the door before he realizes what is wrong with you. You wake up suddenly with a terrible stomach ache. It’s not that kind of stomach ache, no. You know you’re not sick. But physically and emotionally you hate this day, you want to stay in bed, under the covers, and just let your body rot.

And it’s not just that you don’t want to get up and begin your day. You feel as though you physically _cannot_ get up. Your body won’t let you, and you grimace to yourself, letting out a small whine of discomfort. This has happened to you before, millions of times, and you’re surprised you survived them all, but this one in particular. This one seems like it wants to continually punch you in the gut, over and over and over again until you know in your heart that you never want to see the light of day ever again. It’s anxiety. Another bout of anxiety that you’ve suffered with since you were born. It’s chronic really; the physical side of your body feels dormant, but in pain somehow.

The emotional pain you suddenly feel as you wake up feeds into your body, forcing on you a physical ache that leaves you tossing and turning and clutching your stomach with your arms around your waist. You hate this. Every second of it. But you just don’t know how to fight it. You don’t know why it’s happening now. God, even Trent doesn’t know how you suffer sometimes.

You stay in bed, you decide. For an hour. Or two. Or more.

By the time Trent finally returns, it’s midday and he calls your name, some grocery bags in his hands. He actually feels proud of himself. Him and Brian went food shopping; he wants to make you a special dinner (well, he’s probably going to invite Tori to help because she’s the cook in the house). When you don’t answer, that’s when Trent gets a little concerned. He calls your name again and strides down the hallway towards your shared bedroom, wondering if you went out for some reason.

No, you’re still in there, wallowing in self-pity and wishing the pain would just go away but it doesn’t. In fact, once you hear Trent’s voice behind you and feel his large, warm hand on your back, gently massaging your skin, the emotions flow out of you and you’re sobbing endlessly, sniffling, hiccuping, crying aloud, then reducing your sobs to soft weeping. You want to get sick; that’s what this toxin inside you feels like.

Trent is alarmed. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, and countless times he asks you. What is it, kitten? Oh god, are you all right? You can tell me. Please, baby, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me. His voice is soft and gentle, and you wish it had the healing power to soothe your soul. It almost does. You finally let out a broken “I don’t know” and continue to cry. But Trent knows. The realization crosses his face, and then his countenance softens, looking down on you with pity. He knows exactly what’s hurting you so much. In fact, he’s dealt with it countless times himself, some of the bouts dangerous even, pushing him, making him feel so low and vulnerable and helpless; of course, he knows what you’re feeling.

Gently shushing you and crooning in your ear soothingly, Trent climbs into bed behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist possessively, protectively and presses his whole body against yours, almost as if he was a human shield of some kind, protecting you from what you’re feeling. He’s going to help you get through this, he murmurs. He understands.

Your sobs quiet eventually as he simply holds you, and you feel yourself beginning to calm gradually. The shaking in your hands slow to a stop when Trent takes them in his and presses his lips to them.

It’s okay, baby it’s okay… You’re going to get through this. I promise. You’re so strong. You can fight this. Let me help you, angel.

Pressing your lips together and sniffling up the last of your sobs, you rest your head against his chest, knowing that you’re vulnerable right now but also knowing that Trent will protect you. He presses a sweet kiss to the top of your head and nuzzles your neck, holding you tighter.

Your stomach rumbles, loudly, and the both of you hear it, giggling just a little. You know you need food, realizing that you haven’t had any for most of the day. But you wonder if you can even find the strength to get up. Trent helps you there. He carries you out of the room and brings you to the kitchen. You think, he got you this far. He’s helping you fight this. It’s just one step at a time.

Reassurance:

Just when you think you fucked up for the last time in Le Pig, Trent doesn’t let you ruminate over it for long.

But still.

It’s difficult watching his eyes darken and dull when he realizes he has to do an entirely new take to the track once more all because you couldn’t come in on time. He doesn’t think you see it, but you do, and you almost want to be mad at him for getting so uptight over a track.

Then you stop yourself mid-thought and remember that this is Trent’s life right now. Making music and struggling to make music and struggling with his life in general, and suddenly you feel like such a bother, such a fuck-up because now he has to do it all over again for the thousandth time. Keeping your head down, you scrunch your face up to hide your watery eyes, wrinkle your nose, and sniff loudly, cursing yourself and hoping he doesn’t notice. You don’t want Trent to see you fucking cry over a track on the new album.

You’re disappointed in yourself, and you are most definitely certain that he’s disappointed in you.

You get up and walk out of the sound booth, closing the door softly behind you just so you can be alone and leave him be. Because you fucked up. Again. You made a mistake. Again. And Trent is probably frustrated, but he’s too fucking nice. He could just tell you to fuck off for a bit if you can’t do a simple task. But he doesn’t, and just his silence makes your stomach turn. You know he’s upset and annoyed.

You don’t want to cry, goddamit; in fact, you feel silly for crying over something like that, but you want his approval. In everything. Every little thing you do, you want him to be proud of you. But you know he can’t do that if you keep making so many mistakes.

You slide down the wall and collapse to the floor with a dull thump, hugging your knees to your chest and resting your head in the dip between them. The tears don’t come yet. You’re too exhausted and too worried over Trent’s reaction.

Come on, get up.

Jumping slightly, you look up, staring into that face, somewhat harsh-looking but filled with soft concern for you. You hardly heard Trent even leave Le Pig, and suddenly you feel so small beneath his gaze. He must think so little of you. You can’t do anything right-

Come on.

His voice is low, quiet, but insistent.

When you do, Trent wraps you up in his warm embrace, rubbing you back and breathing against your neck.

Don’t be such a crybaby.

I’m not a crybaby.

Yes you are. Over nothing. This whole thing is frustrating. We’re all exhausted. We’re all spent from working on this goddamn track, but I promise I won’t ever take it out on you.

But you’re disappointed in me. I know it.

Trent shakes his head, gazing into your eyes in disbelief. You don’t think he’s ever made countless mistakes before? To reassure you, he presses his lips against your forehead in a soft kiss and holds you close. Just the gesture alone tells you how much he appreciates your help and loves you so, so much.

Let’s get out of here.

Who You Are:

It’s so hard right now. Too hard. You don’t know if you can even do this. At some points it seems like all people see from you is your body, but the body that doesn’t fit, the body that just isn’t right for you. Every single fucking day someone misgenders you, someone says “she” or “her”, and even after you calmly and politely correct them, they decide that the “humane” way is to continue to be rude and unfeeling to your emotions and requests.

You don’t get it.

You’re a fucking human being with feelings and needs. Why should you be denied your basic rights? But your “family” has walked out on you. Your “friends” hardly call anymore; they don’t know what to make of you, or they know, goddamnit, but they refuse to acknowledge the facts.

You are male! A man! And you are a man who deserves respect. But your faith in yourself has been shaken, and on days like these, days where it seems like no one is listening, you wonder if you can even go through with it and bear with even more severe scrutiny and judgment. And as a goddamn human being, you know you shouldn’t have to feel this way. You shouldn’t have to feel like the whole world is against you just because you want to do something for yourself. But you do. Because it seems like you’re teetering over the edge and the world has walked away. Just like them.

You want to scream. Scream in someone’s face, tell them through the tears and the sobs how low you feel, how helpless, how you can never tell if you can ever trust anyone again, if anyone will have your back anymore, help you get through this. Perhaps you’ll never be free from this.

Maybe you’re screaming all of this in Trent’s face at the moment; maybe you’ve snapped, but you just can’t take it anymore.

Trent isn’t taken aback. Instead, he remains calm. And does something no one has done in a long fucking time. He listens. He listens through every tear. Reads every emotion. Studies the lines of worry on your face and the way your lower lip trembles in anger and frustration and fear. Anger at the world. Frustration over the people you thought cared about you and loved you. Fear over how the world may react once you finally obtain the courage to do this for yourself, find your identity, your true identity, be exactly who you want to be.

Trent lets you yell and scream in his face all you want, and once you finally get all of the negative energy out of your system, he brings you in and holds you close.

I love you, he murmurs into your neck. I care about you. So fucking much. And I hope you can trust me, because I am going to do everything to the best of my ability to make sure that you never have to feel uncomfortable again. This is just one of the main struggles in your journey to be who you are. I love you for who you are. I love my boyfriend so, so much. You’re strong. Remain strong. You say your family has walked out on you? _I’m_ your family, babe. And I’ll never walk away. I love and am proud of the strong man you’ve become. You make me so happy. Don’t ever doubt that. I promise you, you’ll get through this, and you will succeed.

His words make you cry even more, but it’s like a good cry after an anxiety attack, once you’ve realized that everything is going to be okay and you can regain control again. You silently promise yourself that you will continue to be strong for him since he has promised that he will do the same for you.

I fucking love you.

You believe him.

Coffee Date:

You’re glad you’re not the only one who seems nervous for your first date. You had gotten there first and now sit quietly in your seat at the table by the window of your favorite coffee shop. He said he was a musician- or an aspiring one; his band has had a few gigs, all pretty successful, and he’s been working on an album. You’ve never met someone so ambitious in your life.

Looking up, you notice him walking through the door, wild dreads a little bit in disarray; perhaps he ran to get here on time. Either way, he’s rather cute with a long nose, bright eyes, and an adorable smirk left on his lips. He sees you and immediately sits down but not without hesitantly shaking your hand first. His name is Trent, you remember, a name that seems to fit his physical features and manner. He smoothly removes his leather jacket, shaking his dreads out of his face.

You’re a bit surprised and rather pleased that he remembers your name. The both of you start off with that and mutter a few comments on how nice the coffee shop is. He’s a little jittery, moves around a lot, shifting in his seat, and you know he just wants to get comfortable. First dates or blind first dates in this case are always awkward in the first place. Cute, you think as you watch him pick his legs off the floor and sit criss cross in his seat. He catches your eye and blushes just a little, which is even more adorable, before apologizing and explaining that he just feels better this way.

You go from there and the conversation blossoms from the awkwardness of first dates to whatever else makes the both of you uncomfortable, and you both end up laughing and promising each other that you’ll never do anything to make the other uncomfortable if this is to continue. You ask him about his music, his inspiration; he really likes the Cure and Depeche Mode and has a rather unhealthy obsession with synthesizers. It’s a little difficult raking in money for rent just performing at select gigs but he has gotten a cleaning job for a local record company. He asks you about yourself, and while you talk, you can’t help but notice how attentive he is towards you. It’s almost like he’s drawn to the sound of your voice or something; smiling and laughing a little when you mention something funny and growing serious when you do.

It’s been a while talking with someone like this, relaxed, just talking, letting the time pass. It’s comforting, and you cannot help Trent thinks so too.

By the time the both of you have to leave, Trent lingers just for a little while longer. You feel goosebumps fan out over your skin once he takes your hand in his, holding it oh so tenderly for a long moment. You don’t remove your hand, and he takes that as his permission to lean in close and gently kiss your cheek.

Trent’s lips are soft, so soft, and you instantly feel more goosebumps as a small spark goes through you.

You don’t think you’d mind going on another date with him.

Just Friends... Right?

You don’t know where you stand with Trent. If someone were to approach you, mic and camera and all, and ask you about your relationship with him, you would adamantly state that the two of you are just friends. Nothing more. And that’s all you both decided you would be.

Funny how that changes.

Now you’re unsure. Questioning things. Things like the way he smiles at you when you ask him a question or just randomly bring up something funny or intriguing that happened that day. Things like the way his dark, long hair falls over his face when he leans over, studying and playing the knobs and buttons in his studio. You catch yourself thinking about how he would react if you tucked that lock of hair behind his ear.

As a rockstar, it’s his job, his trademark to exude sex. You knew when you first became friends. Maybe you’ve accepted; you’re unsure, but now, you find yourself staring when he changes into a different shirt, studying the expanses of his smooth, white skin or how his back muscles flex once he lifts the shirt over his head. It’s sexy. You won’t deny it. Everything about him, you realize, keeps you from denying it. But you continue to deny one thing and one thing only: you’re just friends. Just. Friends. The question passes back and forth through your mind. What if he feels that way? What if he doesn’t?

Trent’s hand brushing over yours in the studio is what ignites the spark. Cliché, right? Of course, but, that’s him. That’s everything about him. His voice, his smile, his body. And now, the way he touches you. Maybe he doesn’t think anything of it, but you do. And you finally accept it, touching the spot on your hand absentmindedly where he touched you. The sparks scatter, and he eventually notices you staring at him.

Before he can even ask you what is wrong, you’re pinning him against the wall, hands brushing the hair out of his eyes, catching his face in them, and bringing him close. You’re kissing him. And his lips are so, so soft. Just like you imagined. Soft and warm; you caress them gently but insistently with yours. What makes you hold him tighter is when he kisses you back. He actually kisses you back, mouthing at your lips with his soft, perfect ones, and you sigh into his mouth, knowing that somehow in the back of your mind this is how you wanted it to be.

High School AU: Trent and Brian

Trent is well-liked and outspoken. Probably someone who has made it in the school newspaper or a couple of times in the yearbook. Maybe got a bunch of signatures. He’s a leader and a visionary, a promising student under the watchful gaze of scrutinizing intellectual authority. He tries hard. Maybe too hard. He does his best, works himself to the limit, does it to impress, maybe to get them to listen, and in return he receives a pat on the back- nothing more really. But deep down, deep down inside this bright and ambitious young man is someone who feels all alone, someone huddled against the wall, wrapped in his own dark thoughts, desolate thoughts that have really always been there, plaguing his mind. Girls, guys? identity, trust, school, his future. Sometimes it threatens to consume him, maybe even break down his walls of anxiety and expose him to those same watchful eyes, so they can see him for who he really is. Someone scared. Someone alone.

Brian is frightening and angst-driven. Probably someone who has nearly gotten in trouble with the law rather than just school authority. Dildo in the desk of a Bible studies teacher. Always coming home to a crying mother and an empty home with an empty heart. He’s a broken kid in a broken home, the poster child of what happens to kids that are different than the rest. The black sheep. The “Satanist” they call him, but if they only knew him… He’s given up on that idea, gave up on it years ago after the bullies and the peer pressure and the fights and the scars. Everything. Deep down inside him though, there is the one idea of standing up, to fight, to scream in their faces of just what he has suffered. Make them see. Make them cry. And then he’ll be free.

Trent and Brian know of each other. Never talked. Never bothered to look at one another for more than a second. Trent’s friends call him “Satanist” and “freak”. Brian’s friends call him “mommy’s boy” and “God’s little gift” though scathingly. And perhaps that is what made them hate each other unexpectedly. Two completely different individuals sitting on opposite ends of the cafeteria until that one push. Maybe it’s Brian’s boot he sticks out while Trent’s walking, causing him to trip, drop his tray, fall right on his face. Maybe it’s Chris Vrenna, Trent’s best friend standing up immediately to lunge after Brian and his friends in a final fit of rage. Maybe one of them calls Trent a “faggot” while the other side calls Brian a “sick freak”, and then Trent advances on Brian, face nearly as red as the blood pouring from his nose, and the fight only continues until two teachers pull them off each other.

Detention is not exactly where they think they’d finally get to know each other.

Trent sniffs, feeling the drying blood crusting over in his nostrils. Brian crosses and uncrosses his long legs, silently fuming but at what again? He can’t remember and it makes him more disappointed in himself than angry. He looks over at Trent, a small kid but someone who looks like he doesn’t take shit from anyone. Oddly enough, Brian finds he admires that in him. Trent turns himself, sees a kid with freshly dyed hair and a piercing in his lower lip, but he sees it tremble slightly, notices the faded scars on his arms.

I’m sorry I tripped you.

Noted… I’m sorry I punched you.

You can really lay it on me, I’ll give you that.

Brian sees the beginnings of a smirk forming on Trent’s face, and he can’t help but enjoy the way the sunlight hits his dark auburn hair.

Perhaps it’s time they introduced themselves more formerly.

Cuddles:

Trent doesn’t really know how to make the first move when it comes to cuddling, but he awkwardly takes you into his arms from behind and pulls you against his thin chest, his long hair tickling your neck. This is nice. Much better, he thinks and plants a soft kiss against the top of your head after a short moment. You hum in approval, a small, content smile stretching across your face as you snuggle in closer, pressing the side of your face into his chest and breathing in that warm, clean scent of his, like freshly washed clothes, soft and cozy.

He makes you feel safe.

The way he rubs your back, stroking it with long, gentle, piano fingers and brushing your hair back from your eyes. You love the way his hands feel against your skin. He’s so protective of you, holding you like he simply can’t let you go. Doesn’t seem like he wants to at the moment; in fact, he draws you in closer, the warmth of his body heat surrounding you, making you feel incredibly safe, safer than you’ve ever been. To be honest, it has been a while since you decided to trust someone to hold you like this, to make you feel needed and wanted, everything you haven’t felt in a long, long time, everything you thought you wouldn’t feel ever again.

You’re giving him a chance.

You can’t believe you’re actually doing it, after all the times you’ve been hurt, been rejected, touch-starved, you name it. And Trent actually wants to be with you. Proves it with numerous kisses to your scalp, your temples, your nose, and then finally your lips, saving those for last with the sweetest, most innocent kiss this rockstar could give you.

He’s not asking something from you. He’s not forcing something from you. The both of you simply lay there in a tender embrace on your bed, absolute silence, nothing but the steady sounds of your pulsing heartbeats drowning out all thought.

It’s like a calming trance between the two of you, him mindlessly playing with your hair and kissing your forehead once or twice and you wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your entire being against him.

It’s moments like these that you wish would last forever.

Moments that seem to erase the negative and leave you blissful.

Snowfall:

You wake up, and Trent is not next to you in bed like he normally would be this morning. The brightness that glimmers from the window makes you crack your eyes opening, blinking in the white light of the sun hidden by puffy clouds like cotton balls. A perfect winter’s day with not a patch of blue in sight. You like it that way, so you stretch, sit up, and make your way to the window.

It’s snowing.

You smile a little, observing the white flurries that swirl and dance lazily. Doesn’t seem windy out. Then you squint your eyes. Looks like there’s someone jumping around in all that white; a blanket of soft, fluffy white layers and caresses the ground sweetly, perfectly like a gentle, cold hug from the heavens. You giggle a little. The person bounds and leaps through the soft hills, trudges through at least six inches of snow, trips a little and manages to fall flat on their face in a heap of glistening white. You chuckle some more when they raise their head and shake the snow out of it and then finally notice who it is. Instead of getting up, Trent rolls over onto his back in an immobile heap and simply lays there, staring up at the pale, unblemished sky.

When you finally don your jacket, hat, and gloves and rush outside, Trent lifts his head and smiles gleefully, grinning from ear to ear.

Haven’t seen this much snow since I left Pennsylvania, he calls out to you, in such a cheerful voice, you start to beam yourself.

Are we throwing snowballs then? Trent doesn’t answer your question until after a few seconds to which he sighs, closes his eyes, and starts to make a snow angel, a content smile on his lovely face.

Not yet. Just wanna lay here for a bit.

The snow ball to his face changes his mind instantly, and Trent springs to his feet, hauling up as much snow in his arms as he can carry, chasing a laughing you at lightning speed. Snow hits your back and hair, shoots over your head to which you squeal happily for the first time in a long time. He certainly seems happy. Trent’s eyes gleam mischievously while he busies himself with making another snow ball. Doesn’t really get too far with another one to the face, so he hurries to claim his revenge. You shriek in glee as Trent charges for you, tackles you to the ground, the both of you rolling around together aimlessly in the snow.

You settle eventually, lying on top of him, legs entangled like a couple of knots, breaths mingling, the only thing aside from your coats and hats that keeps you a little warm. Trent’s nose is red from the cold, so you sweetly kiss it, ushering a content smile from him. Some days it’s difficult to get a smile out of him; he’s seemed so down lately, but this one day, just for the two of you, is perfect, utterly and absolutely perfect. You kiss him again, this time on the lips, and he reciprocates the intimate gesture, wrapping his hands and arms around you, the extra padding from his gloves and jacket making him feel like a cuddly teddy bear.

The both of you remain that way for what seems like an eternity until Trent presses his nose against yours, caresses your cheek, and asks you if you want to go in for some hot chocolate.

You giggle. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Press that kudos button and leave a comment! Much appreciated and thanks for the support. <3
> 
> Think others will enjoy? Rec it. Or don't. It doesn't really matter but thanks for reading. :)  
> Edit:  
> Hi there. A lot has happened since I wrote these. One person portrayed in these stories has been outted as an abuser.   
> I do not condone. Please keep that in mind when you read and know that the personality portrayed is not a direct representation of the actual personality.   
> Thank you.


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